Roommates
by Novoux
Summary: Not only is there a mass of blankets, but those are his blankets. On his bed. "Keep this up and I'll cancel your birth certificate." Acadamy AU


There is a lump of blankets when Leonard McCoy returns to his dorm room. It's more swollen than a bee sting on a brand new shiner. He's got a hundred and one problems stacked on his shoulders starting with the fact it's finals week and ending somewhere in the burning pits of Hell.

His feet are hurting of all things. Standing for hours on end and running around like a headless chicken tend to do that and it's not because of his age. It was either the stress getting to him when he asked one of the nurses to fetch him a coffee and she snickered under her breath something about him being old or he was working with a bunch of children. Okay, yeah, they're all cheeky little brats who are frustrated about life in general all because of some stupid exams. He has to take them too, those pigeons have yet to realize.

Back to the fact that there is a lump of blankets. A very offending lump of blankets that happen to be smug if that's even possible.

McCoy's eyebrow twitches and he really needs sleep.

Not only is there a mass of blankets, but those are _his_ blankets.

On _his_ bed.

The clock above the door tells him it's eleven in the morning in as much of a haughty way as possible and he hasn't slept since Thursday. A flu-like virus is spreading around campus and clogging up the campus' sickbay like the many used tissues floating around his workspace. Personifying the blankets and a damn clock are the first signs of illness, so he hears.

Ugh. Gross. And now this clog on his bed is refusing him sleep just like the lack of nurses compared to the amount of sick people lying around whining they were going to die. (Bah, they were hardly even dead.) The files upon files of paperwork he needs to get done are in one hand while the other is holding a bag of various items. These factors combined makes Leonard grumpy enough to spit the nails in his own coffin. Yet the lump of blankets is simply mocking him in silence. How cotton sewn sheets dyed an ugly shade of blue have the audacity or ability to taunt him he doesn't know. But it's irritating that he doesn't even know _why_ the blankets are now capable of taunting him.

And it's breathing, too.

Lord have mercy. He may be a patient man with an ex-wife he keeps in contact with for the sake of his daughter, but this offending lump of blankets is digging the hole for his coffin.

"Jim." Bones really wants to kill him. Suffocate him with all those blankets and throw him out the window. "What the hell are you doing?" o_n my bed_, he almost adds. That's not murder; it's doing a favor, he justifies.

"Mmph." So it speaks. And the mass of blankets is shifting while there's a voice in the back of Bones' head telling him to throw his bag on his bed and watch what happens. Or a blowtorch.

Instead Bones sighs for the umpteenth time. "I speak Standard, not stupid, Jim." He sets down his files and bag, approaching his bed and beginning to pull off the upper layer of blankets. Bones is starting to believe he should have never allowed the higher ups to stick him in a dorm room with this kid.

Jim's head pops up suddenly. "Hey, Bones." His hair is in every direction except up. Bones almost laughs at how comical Jim looks with only his head coming from a pile of blankets.

"You look like a mole, kid." Jim makes a face and scrunches his nose further proving that yes, he does look like a mole. "And get the hell out of my bed. What are you even doing?"

"I was sleeping, 'til you came along and tried to destroy my bed." Bones tries not to raise an eyebrow at Jim's attempts of complete and utter seriousness. His resolve fails, however. Dealing with this moron requires a bad sense of humor.

"So you wrap yourself up in my blankets on my bed when you have your own bed and your own damn sheets." Now he wants to throw something, especially when Jim just beams at him.

"Exactly! Your bed is bigger than mine, and I used my sheets too. It's really comfy in here; you should join me." The suggestive tone is not at all innocent. Neither is the expression on the moron's face and McCoy reminds himself calmly that he's dealing with a twenty-something man who is prone to bouts of being Jim Kirk.

"Just get out of my bed, Jim." Jim's grinning like a devil and it's not sitting well with Bones. What the hell is up with this kid? Cheeky little bastard's up to something; Bones knows this although he's not sure if he wants to know.

"Bones!" Jim whines with that devilish look. "Come join me! Don't you want to? I mean, any girl would kill to have the same offer."

"Damn it Jim, I'm a doctor, not a two dollar whore." Bones grumbles and drops his bag near the door. "Now get out of my room before I haul your ass out."

There's a mischievous gleam in Jim's eye and Bones swears the temperature of the room just rose a couple degrees. "Is that a challenge, Bones?" Jim's head sinks until his eyes are above the blankets. Bones swears colorfully under his breath.

"I don't have time for this." Part of him wants to grab Jim and throw him out the window and the other traitorous part wants to know what Jim's planning. It's usually always like this when living with Jim and his shenanigans.

Jim may just be the anti-Christ at this moment, because his expression _is_ illegal. "Come and get me, Bones." The moron disappears in a flash to the security of his copious blankets and Bones feels his blood pressure rising. Where is a hypo when he needs one now?

"Jim, get the hell out of my bed or I'll hypo your ass out." Bones tears at the top layer of sheets only to be met with more blankets. His voice makes him sound a hundred years older than he should be. At this rate his hair's turning grey faster than storm clouds form a tornado.

"Make me!" Comes Jim's muffled voice. Bones is losing the last of his patience and decides to grab the ends of the blankets on the bottom and tug.

"I've had it—" One tug. "with you—" Another tug. "and your shit!" A third and final tug sends Bones falling backwards. Jim lets out an indignant squawk when his fortress of blankets gives way and he falls to the wooden floor.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Bones swears under his breath as his head throbs. Damn the stupid table in his room which will no longer be a table when he's done with it. His head is aching after slamming into a table leg and he wants to make the room stop spinning. He'll murder Jim first, and then get his revenge on the table. Or just murder Jim with the table leg. Beat him with his own stupidity, he decides.

Gingerly his fingers find the lump developing on the back of his head and it's then he curses Jim with every name under the sun. Ow. The good Lord's not going to be able to hold him back from getting even. No, he's already plotting his fiftieth method of killing Jim which involves some blankets, a table leg, and a window.

"Bones?" The exasperated doctor closes his eyes. All he wants is to sleep, and fate decided to screw him in the ass. Karma's a damn bitch and personally trained by his ex to piss on his grave.

Ugh, his head hurts.

"…Bones?" Jim has dropped any pretense of humor and sounds hesitant. "Are you okay, Bones?"

No, I'm not, he wants to answer. But just to screw with the kid, he doesn't. Teach him a lesson and then throttle him, or whatever comes first. First the pounding in his skull needs to stop and the doctor in him is whining about getting off the floor.

"Bones, if you don't get up I'm going to have to use my own methods." Jim warns while he crawls over to the doctor. "But you're probably playing dead on purpose, just to make me."

"…Don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining." Bones' voice is dead serious and Jim's obviously startled when Bones speaks and Jim springs backward in reaction with lightning reflexes. It takes every last bit of willpower not to smile after hearing Jim's reaction of a cat falling in a bathtub.

"C'mon Bones, get off the floor, you old man." Jim whines like Joanna when she wants ice cream, and that always results in a tantrum of grandiose proportions. "And knock it off with your euphemisms."

"Or what?" The headache's subsiding to a bland aching at the back of his head and it's his turn to get even. "You got a big hat and no cattle."

Jim groans in frustration and crawls back to Leonard. "Booones. I don't get any of your stupid sayings. You're making my head hurt." Bones rolls his eyes while they're still shut.

"Look who's talking now. You're the moron who decided to make a nest like some spring hen on my bed and piss me off when I want to sleep."

"But Bones," Jim whines and shuffles closer to him and a sudden weight rests on his legs. "I was bored. And tired. I offered you to join me so we could both sleep!"

"Damn it Jim, then why didn't you get your ass into your own bed and leave me the hell alone?" The doctor starts squirming when Jim's weight moves to his thighs. He may be in a relationship with this blond moron, but now is certainly not the time he wants to partake in anything Jim wants to do which does not mean sleep. "Get off,"

"But that's no fun." The devilish tone is back in black with horns, a tail, _et al. _Bones does not like where this is going partly because he's got some idea but mostly he doesn't and he's at his wit's end. "You and I both know you can't resist me."

"Damn it man! Keep this up and I'll cancel your birth certificate." Bones threatens and the stress is starting to make his blood come to a rolling boil. Jim doesn't realize he's making things difficult and the lack of sleep on Bones' part contributes to his dour attitude. "I've had it with you and your damn flirting. I'm not your whore, 'nd 'm exhausted from actually doing _something_ while you're being an ass." Maybe that was a little harsh to say, but Jim needs to hear it and stop playing his stupid games.

"Ouch. That hurt, Bones." Jim actually sounds offended and there's the traitorous feeling of guilt the size of an ant crawling around Leonard's brain. He moves from Bones' legs—_thankfully,_ but not even a moment after Bones is freed, Jim comes back full swing and lands on the doctor's stomach. Bones' eyes shoot open and he's glaring daggers when the sudden wave of pain hits him.

"Get your fat ass off!" He squirms once again while Jim laughs at his discomfort. The kid's going to have his hide tanned enough by the time Bones is done he'll be halfway into next week. But then Bones realizes with a certain amount of horror and undeniably guilty satisfaction that Jim is only wearing pajama pants and exposing his bare chest to God and everyone else. His momma would've made some horrified remark about Jim's religion showing through how close his pants clung to him.

"I'm not fat, old man. You're no fun." He rolls off of Bones, letting the doctor push himself off of the floor and climb up to his feet while beginning the makings of a pout. Jim is sitting with his back to him, knees against his chest, and for God's sake, sulking. Why must it be him that deals with this kid? He deserves a medal, or something. Booze would be just fine, actually. Leonard can never be picky when he's tired.

"Jim, get up." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're acting like a child." Which isn't exactly uncommon with Jim if Bones knows anything about it. If his brains were dynamite he still wouldn't have enough to tip over a bottle cap.

And just to prove Bones' point, Jim huffs and says nothing. More stubborn than a mule in a mailbox this moron is. "Now you're pissing me off. What the hell is with you and irritating me as often as you can?" Bones steps closer and his face is contorting into a scowl.

"I just wanted to spend some time with you, jeez." Jim huffs and adjusts his arms so Bones can see the bone moving through the skin of his back. "But no, you have to be the grumpy old man you are and not have some fun with me. I've been stressed out just as much as you have from exams and all you do is shoot me down." Bones rolls his eyes and sighs in defeat. He can feel the grey hairs coming in already and he's not even thirty.

"Jim, I'm a doctor, not an idiot. Exams are stressful, and I'm exhausted from treating a dozen kids with mucus coming out of God knows where. 'm not exactly in the mood to deal with your shenanigans."

Jim's head turns to the side and Bones can watch the muscles move accordingly under the tanned skin. His eyes are looking over his shoulder and at Bones, plotting his next moves that will make Leonard sigh in defeat. "That's a sorry excuse for an apology." He suddenly shoots upwards, whirling around and suddenly inches away from Bones with their breaths mingling in the close proximity. "But I'll take it." Then before Bones can bring up some southern expression that Jim will never understand, said cadet fists Bones' two-day-old shirt and kisses him like he's going to die if he doesn't.

Even though Bones is frozen like a well digger's ass in January, Jim doesn't stop until the doctor is kissing him back. And so when Bones does respond, Jim smirks and pulls away; bouncing back and maneuvering his way onto the doctor's bed. "See, I told you that you couldn't resist me." The grin on his face is sinful enough to give the devil a run for his money. "I'm tired, Bones." He yawns innocently and stretches his abdominals for Bones' viewing and the doctor growls under his breath because he's had it but there's only one thing that can keep him from going crazier than a squirrel in a cage and that happens to be the fact he actually loves this ingrate.

Jim's grin isn't fading. Instead, it's getting bigger, if that's even possible because the idiot's big-headed enough as it is. He knows he's winning, the cheeky little shit. And Bones tries to ignore him by picking up the sheets off the floor and heading to the door with the intention of leaving him to be a shirtless idiot all by himself. But no, Jim won't have that. Just as he's stepped one foot out of his bedroom, Jim is on him and roughly tugging the doctor back and growling, "No you don't," before Bones finds himself sitting on his bed with Jim's arms around him.

"Jim, let go of me." He's lost the battle now, but maybe he can have some fun while he's getting over the fact he usually loses. "You're crushing me more than a dog with an egg."

"Shut up, Bones." Jim mumbles and tightens his grip around the doctor. Bones chuckles, shifting and practically squirming to look to the blond idiot he somehow tolerates enough to deal with his shit. Blue eyes with a mischievous glint in them are grinning while Jim's pouting with a frown. He shouldn't even be letting the kid control him like this.

So he doesn't. Bones shoves Jim away before the kid has time to blink and pulls blankets over himself that are still partially on the bed. Jim glares at him and rolls onto his side to face away from the doctor and refuses to accept he's been played at his own game.

"Oh, quit being such a stick in the mud." He grabs one bare shoulder and easily pulls Jim down because it's not like he's not done this before and Jim isn't one for resisting. The brat's still pouting when he's lying on his back and refusing to look at Bones because he's acting his shoe size instead of his age, as always and kisses him. Not the usual Jim Kirk rough or desperate, but his own type of sentiment that makes the kid melt. Or some cheesy, tacky shit like that which can only come from chick flicks. Jim's a sucker for those.

"Psh. Old man." When they part, Jim's face is slightly flushed but he's talented enough to keep his composure. Bones swats him, rolling over onto his side despite the resulting protests and pulling the sheets closer to himself. The bed dips, not usually fit for two people and therefore it doesn't take long before an arm and a leg are flung over him loosely. A nose is buried in his neck and lips are kissing the skin while Bones accepts defeat and just lets Jim cling like the monkey he is. When a pair of lips meet his again, Bones can feel him smirking.

Brat.


End file.
